


Sweet

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 13:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16409336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: When nothing else will do...





	Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts - this week's word: Sweet

It had been three days. Sherlock was worried.

“Go away, Sherlock.” Mycroft grumbled as his baby brother plopped upon the bed.

“But I brought sweeties…” His little brother pouted dropping the candy on the bed.

Mycroft ignored him.

A few minutes later Sherlock entered again.

“Digestives…?”

Mycroft turned away from him in response.

Again, Sherlock exits and returns minutes later to bounce upon his big brother’s bed.

“Ginger biscuits…?”

“Get out.”

“Tarts…?’

“Leave me alone.”

“Lemon cake…?” He smiled beguilingly as his curly hair bounced in his nod of encouragement.

“Nah. Nahi. Nann. Não. Nay. Ne. Nedda. Nei. Nein. Nej. Neyn. Nix. Non. Nu. Do you not understand me? No!”

This repeated several more times as the younger Holmes brother entered and left the bedroom of his elder brother with various sweets to entice him.

“GET OUT!” Mycroft roared sitting up in the bed.

He snatched the plate of tiramisu from Sherlock and sent it sailing through the air to end with a most satisfying sound as it shattered to smithereens against the door. Sherlock was stock still in shock until he saw the expression on his brother’s face as the Icemen reached for him. The consulting detective ran out of the room fearing a similar fate.

“I swear to God William Sherlock Scott Holmes I will throttle you.” Mycroft snarled at the knock on his bedroom door nearly an hour later.

“Mycroft, I swear you’ll want this one.” Sherlock’s voice was heard from a distance.

Infuriated the British Government stalked to the door and flung it open fully prepared to give veracity to his words only to be stopped in his tracks.

Lestrade stood just outside the bedroom. A sign hung from his neck with a placard that read “Arse of the Century”. He held a bottle of sixty-year-old scotch and two glasses in one hand and a large serving plate with one of everything Sherlock had offered over the evening balanced on the other. On his silver hair was a dunce cap.

“I’m sorry, love I was wro...”  

Sherlock and John heard Greg’s apology get cut off with a kiss as the plate of sweets hit the floor.

Closing the front door behind them and locking it when they heard the bedroom door upstairs close, John looks to Sherlock smugly.

“I told you that was the only sweet he wanted.”


End file.
